My Sister’s Island
Katarzyna Ryrych
Pippi - do you remember our gold?
These tiny grey stones with glimmering pieces. There were plenty of them in our sand pit…
I dip my hand in the sand as far as the cold begins and the sand is not loose anymore
and when I pull it out to the surface I have some stones in it, those which we call “golden”.
I can find the golden ones. This is my ability. I’m better than Paul at this so Paul gets me from
behind, beats my hand and the stones scatter around.
“Artie, pick them, pick them,” Paul screams, but suddenly a shadow casts over the sand.
The shadow is big, dark and dangerous like a storm cloud, tightly plaited braids stick
on the sides.
“No, Pippi, no!” I shout but it’s too late.
Blood flows from Artie’s nose to his chin, drips with little drops and quickly soaks into
the sand.
I grab my sister’s hand, a big, warm, firm hand.
“Pippi, let’s go home,” I beg her, but my sister tears out from my hand and murmurs like
an angry cat.
Artie’s mother leans over the balcony, the door slams, heavy male steps on the stairs.
“No one watches this crazy girl again” I can hear and feel how my knees start
to shake.
There’s no crazy girl in here, I say in my head. This is my sister, this is Pippi,
my older-younger sister who in fact takes care of me and Dad.
“Pippi, let’s go home”, I say again but Pippi stands still and murmurs. Only when the dad
appears, does Pippi smile and allow him to take her home. I’m following them like a dog,
not turning back as I know that Paul makes stupid faces and Artie’s mum crouches near
her son and wipes his face.
“It’s OK,” says Dad gently and Pippi smiles.
“Din-ner,” she says and goes to the kitchen as if nothing had happened.
(…)
In the course of time, I have been getting more and more aware of the fact that me
and Pippi live in two totally different worlds. As if there were two islands on the enormous
ocean of life and I was on one of them while Pippi on the other one. My island was of course
inhabited by many other people – my schoolmates, children from the neighbourhood.
However, I haven’t seen anyone yet on Pippi’s island.
At that instant, I thought about other people who, while sailing from dawn till dusk,
avoided Pippi’s island or pretended that they didn’t see it. And yet, Pippi was so big and fat
that it was difficult not to notice her, even in the biggest crowd. And when sitting at school
I thought about Pippi, first thing that came to my mind was a TV programme showing
a stranded whale. Pippi was such a whale, stranded by life on the small, lonely island.
However, no one hurried to rescue such whales as Pippi. It probably appeared to everyone
that if these whales knew how to button up, brush their teeth and do up shoelaces, everything
was all right. Apparently, happiness and order depend on such meaningless trifles and this
could be a reason why nobody cared that Pippi can neither read nor write.